


Nice and Clean

by Vroomvroomvroom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crying, Crying Stiles, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Extremely Underage, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Rimming, Shota, Shotiles, Snowballing, Somnophilia, Temper Tantrums, brief spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vroomvroomvroom/pseuds/Vroomvroomvroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shota Stilinskicest enema thing!! The sheriff gives Stiles an enema and then there's some sex stuff. Stiles does NOT like enemas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice and Clean

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags. I gave stilinski the name "John" here because all the cool kids are doing it, so why not. Stiles is like, idk somewhere between 9 and 12.

"D-do I have to?"

Stiles is smart, smart enough to use his innocent looks to his advantage, smart enough to know that he can get away with a lot if he works those doe eyes and pouts his pink little mouth. 

John sighs, fighting off the part of himself that wants to indulge those big amber eyes and quivering lips. But if being the sheriff has taught him anything, it's that rules are rules for a reason. Besides, he doesn't want to spoil his boy.

It's tempting though, with Stiles spread out for him on his hands and knees, pale skin dotted with moles, little legs spread just enough that he can see his son's tiny rosy pucker. 

"Yes, Stiles, and no complaining" John says gently but firmly, bending down to cup the boy's little butt with his hand.

"But Daaaaaaad," Stiles whines, "can't we just skip to the fun part?"

The sheriff lifts his hand and brings it down hard, watching the skin on Stiles' ass go white and then redden. The boy lets out a high-pitched yelp, but solemnly turns around to lie on his back, lifting his legs without complaint. He doesn't even protest when his father slicks up the tip of the hose and slides it into him. “Okay Stiles,” he warns, hanging the enema bag from the towel rack and releasing the clamp. “Here it comes.”

John watches his son’s face shift from a sullen pout to a grimace as the warm solution slowly fills him up. Stiles groans, brows furrowed and eyes filling with tears. “Sorry baby,” John soothes, “there’s lemon juice in this one, so you’re probably gonna cramp a little.” He rubs his hand up and down Stiles’ flank. “But you’re doing so well, being such a good boy for me.”

“Th-thanks daddy,” Stiles says between sniffles.

They sit there in silence, John running his fingers through his boy’s hair and down his sides, Stiles shifting his weight every so often, crying softly. Stiles sobs sharply each time a new wave of cramping hits, and the sheriff feels for him, murmuring how proud he is, how much he loves his good boy.

Stiles’ face is red and tear-streaked when he asks “is it almost over?”

The sheriff checks the bag. “You’re about halfway done baby.”

“I’m _so full_ Daddy I don’t think I can hold more,” Stiles sobs, but the boy’s stomach is still flat. There’s room for more.

John puts a hand on his son’s tummy, rubbing gentle circles and shushing him. “It’s okay sweetheart, you’re going to take it for me like a big boy, aren’t you?”

Stiles nods miserably.

“Show me what a good boy you can be.” The sheriff grabs some kleenex and gently wipes the tears and snot from his son’s face. “I love you so much.”

“I-I love you too daddy.”

Stiles’ tummy is swollen and distended by the time the bag is finally empty. He looks so beautiful like this: lips bitten red, eyes glazed, skin flushed a healthy pink, nipples hard and puffed out in the cool air of the room. John massages his son’s round belly, working the solution through him. “Just have to hold it for ten more minutes,” he says, letting his other hand thumb at Stiles’ nipple. His boy gasps at the touch, eyes flashing with panic.

“I-I can’t hold it that long,” he urges.

“Shhh, of course you can baby.”

“No,” Stiles insists, raising his voice, “I can’t!! I can’t hold it!” The more he talks the more worked up he gets, face reddening, voice wavering. eyes filling back up with tears. “I’m gonna burst daddy! I can’t hold it!”

“You can and you will.”

Stiles is crying, breathing fast and hard. He tries to sit up, but the sheriff is too quick for him, and holds his shoulders down with one hand, legs in the air with the other. Stiles squeals “NO!” struggling and squirming, too small and weak to stand a chance against his father’s strong, broad hands. John sits patiently, holding him in place and shushing him, murmuring the occasional “I know.” It breaks his heart to hear Stiles cry, to see his little boy in pain, so when the timer finally goes off, the sheriff sighs with relief.

Stiles scampers onto the toilet, his whole body relaxing as he empties himself. John picks up the bag and the hose and carries them out of the room, giving his son some privacy to finish up and shower.

Stiles has calmed down by the time he show’s up in the sheriff’s room, still naked and wet from his shower, sniffling and looking dejected.

“See Stiles? It’s over now.”

“Still hurts,” the boy says petulantly.

John furrows his eyebrows. “Where does it hurt?”

Stiles blushes, “M-my hole.”

The sheriff bends him over the bed to take a look, and sure enough, Stiles’ little pucker is puffy and red, irritated from the acidic lemon. Nothing to be too worried about. “Stiles,” he says, “you were very difficult in there today, you know.” Stiles hangs his head. “You acted like a little baby, throwing a tantrum and making me hold you down when you know you’re supposed to take your enema like a big boy.”

“I’m sorry daddy.”

Stiles _is_ sorry. It’s written all over his face, apparent in his body language and tone of voice. The sheriff smiles and groans, looking at his son fondly. “It’s alright kiddo. Give your old dad a kiss though? Show me you don’t hate me too much?”

Stiles jumps up at that, eyes big and worried, and wraps his arms around his father’s neck. “Dad! I could never hate you! Not ever! Not in a bajillion years!” He puckers his lips and smacks them loudly against John’s with a big “MUAH!”

John lifts him up into his lap and Stiles wraps his skinny legs around his dad’s middle. “Give me a grown-up kiss Stiles.”

“I still get to? Even though I was bad?”

John rolls his eyes. “Yeah, buddy, you still get to. Because I’m a big softy.”

Stiles shuts his eyes and parts his lips, and the sheriff has a second to admire the way his son’s dark lashes fan out over pale cheekbones, to enjoy the sensation of his little boy’s breath ghosting over his mouth, before Stiles presses the softest, sweetest kiss to his father’s lips. John opens Stiles’ mouth wider, sliding his tongue inside and loving the happy hum Stiles makes in reply.

John can feel his cock stirring in the tight confines of his polyester uniform pants. He’s dying to get out of them, but Stiles comes first. That’s what being a parent is all about. He pulls away from the kiss, giving his boy a quick peck on the nose before asking “does your hole still hurt?”

Stiles quirks his mouth to the side thoughtfully and nods. “Yeah, but, it’ll go away. I’m not scared. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Daaaad!” Stiles blushes, fighting off an embarrassed grin, but he climbs off of John anyways, crawling up the bed with his little butt in the air.

John places a closed mouth kiss to Stiles’ tailbone and licks down.

“Hah!” Stiles squeaks when his father’s tongue finally comes into contact with his tender, irritated hole. It’s a good squeak though, and Stiles is already pressing his hips back, greedy for more.

Stiles tastes like ivory soap and clean water, like skin and boy. One day there will be an earthier, muskier smell there, but for now, Stiles is just pink and fresh and squeaky clean. John prods his son open with the tip of his tongue, sucking gently at the boy’s sensitive rim.

“Daa-deeeee,” Stiles whines, breath coming faster.

John snakes a hand around and cups his son’s baby balls and cocklet, loving how he can hold all of it in the palm of his hand with room to spare. It’s all so soft, the skin hairless and smoother than velvet. Stiles doesn’t say anything, just makes these little desperate sounds, high in his throat. He is flaccid, but not for long. He can’t really ejaculate yet, but he can get hard. John strokes his boy up and down with his thumb and forefinger, digging his tongue deeper and deeper all the while. When his son is hard enough, the sheriff makes a tight little ring with his hand for the boy to fuck into.

Stiles rolls his hips in a fluid serpentine motion, back against his daddy’s mouth, forward into his daddy’s fist. John is sure he’ll make a wonderful dancer someday.

Stiles quakes and wails as he comes dry, muscles clenching around his father’s tongue, and then collapses face first onto the bed, gasping for breath.

John laps at Stiles’ hole one more time before climbing up after him, wrapping his arm around his son and kissing him on the forehead. Stiles leans against his side, limp as a rag doll, still breathing a little heavily. He smiles though when John unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He’s hard enough to cut diamonds when he finally pulls his cock out. The head is sticky with precome, and he doubts he’ll be able to last long. Stiles’ breathing has slowed, and his eyelids are drooping, mouth fallen open.

The sheriff chuckles softly and drapes a blanket over the boy.

It’s not hard for John to position the head of his cock into Stiles’ mouth. The boy slurps on it instinctually, humming in his sleep before waking up with a start.

“W-waz goin on?” Stiles slurs, pulling his mouth away.

“Nothing baby,” John soothes, stroking his son’s hair, “just put your mouth back on daddy and go back to sleep.”

“Mmmm, okay, nighty night,” Stiles says with a smile before wrapping his lips back around John’s cock. His mouth is warm and wet and the softest thing John’s ever felt. He presses against the inside of Stiles’ cheek and moans at the way the imprint looks.

Stiles continues to nurse on his father’s cockhead as the man strokes himself. So pretty, John thinks, so special and bright and all his. He pulls out for a moment, just to paint Stiles’ lips wet, then thrusts back in, a little bit deeper this time. A few more strokes is all it takes to have him flooding his son’s mouth with come. Stiles drinks some of it down, but most of it just dribbles out the corners of his mouth, down his lips and chin. He’s so beautiful like that, face slack and drooling jizz, that John can’t resist reaching for his phone and snapping a photo. He gets out of bed to quickly strip, and tucks his softening dick into a pair of boxers before turning off the light and climbing into bed. John kisses Stiles good night. One on the forehead, one on each eyelid, one on each cheek, one on his nose, and one long and deep on his lips, licking his own taste out of his boy’s mouth.  He falls asleep knowing he’s the luckiest father in the world.


End file.
